Samantha's Story
by Heather Young
Summary: Samantha Bevins' murder from her point of view.
1. Meeting

Rating: PG-13 for implied sex. (I promise it will never get worse than this. I do NOT write explicit bedroom scenes.)

Summary: Samantha Bevins' murder from her point of view. This first chapter only sets the scene, explaining how/why she met Joe. I'm afraid it's a bit slow-going.

Disclaimer: I do not own A.I. or any of its characters. The only original character in this story is Samantha's best friend 'Lyssa.

*******Chapter 1*******

I walked along, looking. I got more than a few odd looks. After all, what was a young, beautiful, obviously rich woman like me doing down in the red light district of a dump like Haddonfield? Answer: looking for the most good-looking guy she can find who's willing to sell himself. Orga or mecha, I didn't care.

Sound desperate for company, don't I?

I guess I am in a way, but most definitely NOT in that way. I would never, ever lower myself to hired "love". I can definitely do better than that, there are enough guys asking me up to their bedrooms, and I do take them up on it, sometimes. No, what I wanted was somebody I could use to make that stupid husband of mine jealous.

I mean, come on, it's been a week, a whole week, since he's paid any real attention to me. Home late every single day this week, so then it's "oh sorry, dear, I'm too tired to do anything tonight, I think I'll go straight to bed." Too tired - yeah, right. Read "uninterested". If it wasn't that he's the only guy I know with decently large amounts of cash - that he's too stupid to spend on himself, the skinflint! - I'd toss him and go out with someone who didn't have grey hairs and who listened to real music, not that classical junk. For that matter, I wouldn't have married him in the first place if ti wasn't for his cash - that, and his lovely habit of keeping his undivided attention on me. Attention that had recently started to wander. It wouldn't be all that hard to get it back though, due to another nice character trait of his - he is soooo easy to manipulate.

So anyway, I'd been walking and looking for maybe fifteen, twenty minutes when from this rent-by-the-hour hotel steps this absolutely drop-dead gorgeous guy. One percent body fat, early twenties, killer green eyes, sleek black clothes - in other words, the works in what I consider attractive. Except for his hair, which was unfortunately a black as you can get it, and I've always had a thing for blondes myself. Oh well. This was the best looking guy I was gonna come across on this side of reality, and he was gonna be mine!

He had already started off down the street in the opposite direction, so I ran after him.

"Hey you!" I called as I caught up to him. About five people turned around, but he was one of them, luckily. "Yeah, you, the good-looking one," I said to clear the others off. They gave me looks and cleared. My guy just planted himself more firmly in the road, a smirk on his face.

I circled around him, getting a look close up. I liked close-up even better than far away. He stood perfectly still. Guys never stand perfectly still. Not that perfectly.

"Are you a mecha?" I asked him.

"Yes." He had some sort of accent. I could never place accents. It sounded classy, though. "Does that bother you?"

"Nah. You any good at making husbands jealous?"

A slight bow. "If you so desire."

"Good. Which place has the most gossipy desk-clerk?"

"This way, my lady," he said, offering me an arm. I took it.

We walked a few streets. I remembered something I'd overheard once. "I hear some of you can change your hair colour. That true?"

"What colour would you like?"

"Blonde."

He stopped and held up his left hand, which now had a mirror in its palm, then shook his head, which caused his hair to lighten right up into platinum blonde. He cocked his head at me. "Like so?"

"Perfect."

We'd reached the edge of the red-light area, and he led me into one of the hotels there - the Shangri-La it was called.

The desk-clerk was reading some magazine, but he put it down at the sound of the door. "Hey, Joe, whaddya know?" he greeted the mecha. "Room 102's empty, here," and he tossed over a key. "Oh, and Joe, if you find business slow tonight, there's a girl been coming here and hanging out in the bar until midnight for three nights running. Good looking redhead. I think she's looking for some company."

"Thanks, Mr Williamson."

"See you, Joe, see you...?"

"Samantha Bevins," I answered the unspoken question. This was going better than I'd hoped. Gossipy and curious, as well as obviously pathetically lonely - meaning he's gossip to anybody, not just people he knew.

"Bevins? As in the medical genius who found the cure to - what was it again? AIDS, skin cancer, and diabetes, wasn't it? You related?"

"Yes," I said, giving him my most dazzling smile. No way was he going to forget me now. Guaranteed I was going to be the topic of conversation for the next ten people to walk in, maybe more depending on just how dull they were.

We walked to the room. The mecha locked the door behind us again.

I went over to the phone and dialled my best friend's number.

She picked up after the first ring. "Hey, `Lyssa here, whatcha want?!"

"Hey, it's Samantha. Could you meet me in the lobby of the Shangri-La hotel in, say, fifteen minutes?"

"Sure thing! This about the husband problem?"

"Uh-huh."

"I did say it was a bad idea to actually marry him. Oh well! Bye-bye, then!"

"Bye." Click. I hung up and turned around.

The mecha was lounging on the bed, watching me with that unblinking stare those things have. Now, I have nothing against mechas, but the way those don't blink is creepy. On the other hand, my best friend's non-stop cheerfulness is even creepier. Life just isn't that great.

"What was that about?" he asked. He was smiling very slightly.

I shrugged. "I was just getting my best friend up here, to be gossiped to. By this time tomorrow, I'm going to a permanent shadow."

"Your husband?"

"Uh-huh."

"And what shall we do while we wait?"

"Just wait, I guess."

An eyebrow rose on that perfect face, but his smile never wavered. I swear, that smile could give Mona Lisa's a run for its money. "Just wait? You can not think of something more...entertaining to fill the minutes?"

I caught his drift. "No. I don't need sex. I know at least five guys I can get into bed with without having to pay for it. You're just here because you're someone my husband can get jealous over easily."

"But you are paying me for my time already, in any case. Why not enjoy yourself? There is no point to our sitting here doing nothing."

He had a point there. I was paying anyway, and just sitting around would be incredibly boring. I might as well get my money's worth.

"Move over," I said, and went and sat down next to him on the bed.

*********************

A.N.: Right, so that was the first chapter. It ended up longer than I meant it to. Hopefully I'll get chapter 2 out by next week, but it's slow going as I've never written this kind of story before, I normally do straight adventure stuff. Ahem... Having had it pounded into my head at acting classes to NEVER apologize for yourself beforehand...I shall apologize now! I'm sorry to all the Joe fans out there for my lousy Joe dialogue, my most profound apologies for that to Matrix Refugee in particular as she writes Joe dialogue perfectly.


	2. Jealousy 101

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Samantha Bevins's murder from her point of view. Jealous husband this chapter.

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

*******Chapter 2*******

My best friend was waiting in the lobby when we came out. She sized up the mecha with a very approving look.

"Nice one, Sam!" she complimented. "I've been hearing all about your new friend," she grinned at the desk-clerk, "but I didn't think anyone that good-looking could actually exist!" The mecha looked incredibly smug.

I wondered what to say next. I had a lot of experience with guys, but I had no idea how you were supposed to ditch a bought one. I was saved from having to say anything by this pager the mecha wore around his neck going off. (He had already given me its number in the bedroom.)

He glanced at it, and then moved off smiling. He turned around again at the door. "Excuse me. Musn't keep a lady waiting." He managed to make what was an obvious catch-phrase sound sincere. Then he was gone.

"C'mon! I got my cruiser parked outside," my friend said. She gave the desk-clerk a smile. "Nice to have talked!"

In the cruiser, she asked me, "So I take it I'm supposed to let something 'slip' in Alexander's heraring?!"

"Uh-huh."

"I knew you shouldn't have married him!"

"Okay, so maybe I made a mistake, but who else around here has anywhere near the kind of money he has?"

"So stay his girlfriend or something."

I grabbed my seat as she turned the corner at top speed, narrowly missing a cop ticking someone. Whoever gave her her license was an idiot.

"We're talking about my husband, the cheapskate. There's no way he would spend more than a pittance on a mere girlfriend, and he'd spend his whole time glaring at any other guy in a ten metre radius instead of paying attention to me. As his wife, on the other hand, I get all the money I want, he assumes I ignore other guys, and he waits on me hand and foot. Or he normally does."

I had to grab my seat again as she slammed on the brakes for a red light.

******* ******* *******

My husband didn't come home until halfway through dinner. My best friend had hung around in order to catch an opportunity to drop hints to him.

Anyway, we were busy eating when he suddenly appears and just drops down into his chair. It took him five minutes to realize there were other people at the table with him. I'm supposed to be the first thing he notices!

"Oh, Samantha, you didn't have to wait dinner for me."

"I didn't," I muttered. "Idiot."

He didn't hear. "And, er, Alyssa Parker, isn't it?"

"Just `Lyssa, a full name every time is a bit too much, isn't it?!" She gave a laugh.

"Um. And did you enjoy a profitable day, Samantha?" I hate it when he gets all pompous like that. It means he's off in his own little world and not paying any attention to reality, including me.

My friend giggled. "I'll say she has! She's found herself a nice new friend, didn't you, Samantha?" She giggled again. That made him take notice.

"Friend?" he said, trying to be casual and falling miserably short. "What sort of friend?"

She laughed again. It was becoming really irritating. "Oh, just some three-year-old with gorgeous green eyes," she said innocently. I was impressed - she'd obviously gotten a lot out of that desk-clerk, stuff I wouldn't have thought to ask. "I think his name's Joe - that right, Samantha?"

"Uh-huh," I said, glaring at her for my husband's sake.

He completely fell for it. He spent fifteen minutes trying to surprise information out of her by springing would-be-casual questions, but she acted all embarrassed, and kept changing the subject. He eventually gave it up, and wouldn't say another word for the rest of the meal.

I couldn't help grinning to myself. By the end of the week, I was going to have one very interested husband. He was going to be very, very sorry he'd ever ignored me.

******* ******* *******

A.N: Right, I realize that was a really short chapter, but on the other hand the whole let's-get-the-husband-jealous scene was only supposed to be in a quick explanatory paragraph, so it's a lot longer than I originally meant it. A quick note on names: Alexander means "helper of man", and it's the name of the guy who invented penicillin, so I figured it was appropriate for someone who found the cures to a bunch of stuff. Alyssa is the name of this girl I know who's really shallow and really annoying, but is still pretty friendly (the cheerfulness is only slightly exaggerated).


	3. And Then There Was Darkness

Rating: PG-13 for implied sex and a little bit obvious violence

Summary: Samantha Bevins's murder from her point of view. Last chapter (eg., we get to the murder.)

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

*******Chapter 3*******

I went out shopping the next morning. Just as I'd predicted, I kept catching glimpses of my husband trying to sneak along behind me. I stayed out all morning, just to taunt him.

At about 10:30, I called my best friend to pick me up. Now, normally, I'd prefer walking to her driving, especially since I needed my husband following me, but not that far, in that part of town, in the pitch dark with my lousy night vision. It's actually illegal for me to drive at night, my night vision's so bad.

Anyway, a few minutes after I called her, my friend rang the doorbell, and I went outside to meet her. As I went out, I saw my husband pop up from the bushes and back out of the corner of my eye. My friend obviously saw him too, because she put a hand over her mouth to stop herself giggling.

"So," she said loudly when she'd regained control of herself, "I take it you want to go to the same place as before?! That Shan-what's it place?"

"The Shangri-La, yeah," I said, taking care to do so very clearly and loudly.

"Come on, then!"

That woman's manic driving is twice as bad in the dark.

We managed to arrive in one piece and without the cruiser getting wrapped around something. Just how we managed that is something that I'm never going to be able to figure out.

After reassuring myself that yes, I was actually still alive, I checked in (same room again) and dialled the mecha's pager.

******* ******* *******

When we came back out to the lobby, I saw my husband's back hurriedly leaving the hotel. I smiled to myself. He was following the script perfectly so far.

The mecha must have noticed my smile. "I presume it was your husband who just exited in such haste?"

"Yeah. Obviously been pumping that desk-clerk."

The mecha made a noise of assent.

I called my best friend to take me home again. My husband waited another fifteen minutes after I got in before coming in himself. He looked like he was trying hard not to look upset.

"Anything the matter?" I asked.

He half-jumped. "Oh...no, no not really," he said unconvincingly. "Er...had a good day?"

"Went shopping this morning. Had a wonderful evening."

"Why, what happened?" he asked quickly.

"Oh, nothing really." I pretended to think. "My best friend came over for a bit."

"Ah. Um...Samantha, um..."

"Yes?"

"Well, um, I was just wondering, well could you tell me..."

Come on, I thought, say it. Say 'I've caught you sneaking around with someone'.

"Could you tell me, well..."

"Yes?"

"Tell why, why....Never mind," he finished miserably.

"Okay." Wimp.

"Goodnight, Samantha."

"G'night."

He turned and shuffled off up the stairs. I was obviously going to have to get him even more jealous before he found the guts to say anything. I wanted him right back where he belonged - eating out of my hand. So it had to be him who said something first, or it wouldn't work, and so long as he was pretending he didn't care, nothing was going to happen.

******* ******* *******

The next two days were almost exactly the same as the first - I'd spend the day being followed by my husband, in the evening I'd get my best friend to take me over to the Shangri-La hotel where my husband would follow me and pump the desk-clerk, I'd come home, and then he'd come in shortly after.

The first of those two nights he tried to question me again, giving up even sooner than the night before. The second night, he just went straight up to bed without even looking at me. My plan was beginning to work.

******* ******* *******

The next day, I went out to the movies with some friends. I didn't see my husband anywhere, which struck me as odd since he's not any good at sneaking around - I always spotted him tagging along after me somewhere. Oh well. Maybe I was just being too predictable, and he figured he knew when I would go meet the mecha.

When I got out of the cinema, it had gotten completely dark. My best friend was among the group I'd gone to the movie with, and as she hadn't left yet, I asked her if she would drive me over to the Shangri-La now.

Thank goodness the cinema was closer than my house. I didn't know how much more of her driving I could take before finally dying of fright.

When I got out of the cruiser, I thought I saw a person lurking in the shadows down this alleyway that runs along side the Shangri-La, but with my lousy night-vision, for all I know it could have been a cat or just my imagination.

I checked in (same room again), and dialled the mecha's pager when I got in. As I hung up, I heard the door bang off the wall behind me. I swung around.

My husband was coming at me with a knife.

"What are you doing?" I yelled at him.

"You killed me," he said, perfectly calmly. His eyes were complete blanks.

"Just put that down, you don't understand," I yelled at him, frantically. He didn't listen.

"Listen to me! I was just -" I stopped as the knife entered.. For a second, my shock numbed the pain. Then fire burst out where I had felt the knife bite, then slice.

And then there was darkness.

******* ******* *******

Somewhere in the States there is a town. In that town there is a hotel. In a certain room in that hotel, a man stands, a knife clenched in his right hand.

There is a woman on the bed. The man stands looking at her. He does not make a sound. There is despair in his eyes.

There is blood on his knife.

A sound comes from the outside - the stairs creak.

The man looks up. He appears to think. He throws away his knife, then shuts the door, then hides at the other end of the room.

A few moments later, another man walks in....

******* ******* *******

A.N: Well, that's all folks! A whole chapter longer than I thought when I started out. I hope I did the murder scene reasonably well, it's a bit tricky writing it from the point of view of the person being murdered. About the weapon being a knife - as far as I know, there is no indication as to what exactly Bevins used to murder Samantha, but if you have any evidence that it wasn't a knife, tell me and if I agree with your reasoning, I'll change it.


End file.
